


Spiraling

by caffeinatedtrash



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Child Abuse, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, Gen, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Prostitution, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Slurs, Smoking, Underage Drinking, these boys got issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 15:37:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16856707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeinatedtrash/pseuds/caffeinatedtrash
Summary: Billy Hargrove is cracking.  Trapped in a miserable town, under the thumb of his father, trying desperately to keep up appearances so things don't fall apart again.  Billy is living on eggshells, counting down the days until he will be free to flee from his father's control, from this backwards, conservative town.  Billy is an airplane with no engines, and he is headed towards the ground fast.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is content in this work that may be triggering to some. Please heed the tags.

Hopper had never met Billy Hargrove.  Sure, he’d heard his deputies complain about Hawkins’ newest hellion who brought trouble wherever he went.  And it had been him who drove a concussed Steve Harrington to the hospital the night of the demodog attack after Billy beat his head in with one of Joyce’s plates.  He had seen firsthand the damage the California native had done when Steve laid glassy-eyed in a hospital bed, asking pitifully for his parents for a week while he and Joyce stayed by his side, hearts breaking for their kids’ babysitter.

 

Still, despite having heard stories of officers getting into verbal altercations with an angry and often drunk Billy Hargrove at parties, the Chief himself had never officially met the teenage nightmare.  Until he showed up to get Elle from a movie night at Joyce’s house and found himself parking next to a blue Camaro (front bumper seemingly repaired from Max’s joyride).  The Camaro was off, and there was no one inside of it, which was odd.  Every time Hopper had seen Max get picked up before her stepbrother had just laid on the horn, loud rock blasting from the open windows, until his sister appeared.

 

Jim stepped onto the creaky porch and nearly stepped back when he saw the infamous Billy Hargrove.  The blond-headed boy looked like he had been jumped.  Even under the dim porch light Hopper could see that Billy was hurt.  His left eye was bloodshot, deep black bruising surrounding the orbital socket, his cheekbone swollen.  His lower lip was split open, shiny blood not quite congealed on the large cut, dried blood crusted on his chin and down his neck.  Dark bruising has bloomed along his forehead, spreading into the hairline and disappearing under the curls, appearing to have been caused by contact with a stationary object, judging by the linear pattern.  Billy was lacking his usual posed slouch and was instead leaning heavily against the warped wooden side of the Byers’ house, one arm wrapped protectively around his ribcage.  His eyes were open but far away, staring unseeing at a spot somewhere in front of him.  As Hopper stepped closer he realized he could hear Billy’s pained gasps, air sucked through clenched teeth in short bursts, as if the act of taking in oxygen was a painful process.  Based on the looks of him, it probably was.  Hopper instinctively felt nervous approaching the teen, and wondered absently if Elle could stay with Joyce if he ended up taking the kid to the station to make a statement.

 

Hopper stood a safe, non-threatening distance in front of Billy.  “Hey kid, what happened?” he said, in the voice he used with lost children and panicked parents.  The soothing tone had no effect, and Billy startled, fear flashing across his face for a split second before his facade fell into place, his jaw set in anger.  The brief panic reminded Hopper of Elle when he had first met her, jumpy and hiding behind her powers, and he shook his head slightly to get the image out of his head.

 

Billy wasn’t too injured to be upset, and he swore angrily, his blue eyes hardening as he stared down the Hawkins Police Chief.  “Fuck off, old man” he snarled, and if he didn’t look like he had been beaten to hell and back Hopper would’ve been offended.  Instead he was reminded of a cornered dog, snapping at hands in a last ditch attempt to protect itself.

 

“I don’t appreciate the language, but I’m going to let it go this time.  You look like somebody really hurt you, and I need to know what happened.” Hopper said in a placating tone, holding his hands up to show he meant no harm.  Even as he said it he knew that he would get nowhere with the angry teen.

 

“What you’ve never been in a fight before?” Billy snapped, refusing to meet Jim’s eyes.  “Just bit off more than I could chew and got a little roughed up.”  Billy laughed derisively, but it sounded hollow, forced.

 

Against his own better judgment Jim decides to dig a little deeper.  “I’ve seen a lot of people who’ve lost fights in this line of work, you don’t look like any of them, Billy.  If someone’s hurting you-“

 

“I look like a battered wife to you Chief?” Billy spat out sarcastically, not letting Hopper finish his sentence.  Nobody’s hurting me.  Just got into a little scuffle, you should see the other guy.”

 

Jim didn’t say it, but all he could think of was how much Billy _did_ look like a battered wife.  Shaking and defending whoever had hurt him with all his might.  He was interrupted from the thought by Joyce opening the door and immediately letting out a horrified squeak at the sight of a bloodied Billy Hargrove.  Before she could say anything Jim gave her a look, and she quickly moved out of the way, inviting the two men in. 

 

Hopper stepped through the door to see the kids sprawled across the living room furniture, watching what appeared to be a monster movie.  Idly, Hopper wished that Jane would choose to watch something happier, her entire life had been a monster movie up until a few months ago.  But seeing her curled up on the couch with Will asleep on her shoulder, Mike holding a bowl of popcorn that they were both eating from contentedly, he couldn’t say that she didn’t look happy.  

 

“Sorry Hop, they started their movie late because they couldn’t agree on what to watch, they’ve got about ten minutes left” Joyce said loudly.  Glancing behind them Hopper realized Billy was still standing in the doorway, not crossing the threshold of the Byers house.  Honestly, Hopper couldn’t blame him, the last time he had been here he had been drugged and seen a demodog, according to what the kids had said that morning over pancakes in the destroyed home.  With the warm light of the house hitting him, Billy looked even worse.  His normally tan skin was ashen, sweat had matted his hair around his forehead, and his whole body appeared to be trembling.  The collar of his shirt was ripped, and it appeared that the buttons had been popped off.  

 

“You can come in sweetie” Joyce said to Billy, and gave him a look that only she seemed capable of.  Her warm, mothering nature seemed to have an effect on even the teenage terror who had nearly killed Steve, and he slowly entered the house, following Joyce as she led him into the kitchen.  Hopper took the rear, and noticed that Billy was limping on his left leg.  In the small kitchen Billy sagged against the counter, letting the chipped Formica bare his full weight.  Joyce busied herself preparing coffee, black and thick like motor oil, just the way she knew Jim liked.  Billy didn’t speak, just shook his head when offered some, and Joyce took that as her cue to leave.  As she slipped down the hall to perch on the edge of an armchair and watch the last few minutes of the kids’ movie she gave Hopper a pointed look, tilting her head at Billy in a way which would have made him laugh if he wasn’t concerned the kid would die on her kitchen floor.

 

Jim spent several seconds taking long swigs of the bitter coffee, letting the heat mix with the unease he felt in the pit of his stomach.  He had dealt with difficult teenagers before, hell he’d been a difficult teenager, but he didn’t know what to do with a kid like Billy.  The boy was vicious by all accounts, and Hopper couldn’t forget, or forgive, what he had done to Lucas.  

 

He decided that diving right in couldn’t make things worse, and said “Billy, I don’t think you’re being honest with me about what happened tonight.  If someone hurt you, you need to tell me so that I can help you.  We can make sure this doesn’t happen again, but not if you don’t talk to me.”

 

Hopper hadn’t expected Billy to spill his guts about whatever had happened, but he also hadn’t expected him to snort derisively and then moan in pain, his pallor going one shade paler, if possible.  He opened his mouth to try again, but Billy began limping towards the front door, barking “Ten minutes Max and I’m leaving” as he slammed the door behind him, leaving confusion in his wake.  

 

———————————————————

 

Later that night Hopper sat at the kitchen table in the cabin, listening to Joyce rant on the phone, his fingers twitching for a cigarette.  Elle was on the couch under a blanket, her eyes glued to the TV as Vivian Leigh rode a horse in period dress.  Joyce had been talking his ear off for over an hour, nearly beside herself over the state of Billy Hargrove.  “You know that he didn’t get hurt like that in a fight, Hop!  Someone did that to that boy!” Joyce’s voice was higher, and she sounded near tears.

 

“I know, Joyce.  And I don’t believe he was in a fight either, he looks like he was jumped, but unfortunately if he won’t tell me what happened there’s nothing I can do” Hopper said.

 

Joyce sighed loudly, and Hopper could see her in his mind: sitting in her worn armchair, phone held in the crook of her neck, cigarette in between her slender fingers, rubbing the bridge of her nose like she did when she was stressed.  A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth at the thought.

 

“Joyce, I’ll call if I hear anything more about it, but there’s nothing I can do right now” Jim said as the credits rolled on Elle’s movie.  “Now I’ve gotta go, it’s time for - **someone to go to bed** -“ raising his voice on the last part so that Elle looked over with a withering glare.

 

———————————————————

Surprisingly, that was the last Hopper heard from Joyce about the topic.  The next time he saw Billy was a week later when he dropped Max off at the cabin for a girls’ movie night.  He was no longer limping, and he was able to stand up straight without holding his ribs.  The swelling in his cheek had disappeared, but the bruises on his forehead and under his eye were still there, faded to a sickly yellow-green.  The split in his lip appeared to be the slowest healing, and a deep bruise had formed under the cut.  Billy had helped Max carry her stuff to the door, but as soon as he saw Hopper he sat it down on the porch and practically bolted back to his car.  

 

That night Jim laid awake in bed, unable to get the image of Billy clutching his ribs in pain a week earlier out of his head.  He had been a police officer for a long time, and he knew he wasn’t being told the truth.  He just didn’t know how to get it.  


	2. Chapter 2

Honestly, Steve didn’t even know why he was worried about Billy Hargrove.  The arrogant asshole had been nothing but trouble for him since he arrived in Hawkins up until the night he nearly killed him in the Byers house.  Nearly two months later Steve still had a scar on his scalp, a shiny white strip of skin that ran across the side of his head, the hair growth interrupted by the thick scar tissue.  He didn’t really remember being hit over the head with the dinner plate, his memories stopped after Billy had arrived outside the house looking for his sister.  His next memory was startling awake in a hospital room, almost three days later.  

 

The kids had been eager to tell Steve what had happened that night, gathered around his hospital bed, talking over one another to describe Steve’s heroics, all with varying degrees of embellishment.  It was Chief Hopper who finally explained what had really happened, telling Steve of closing the portal -again- and defeating the demodogs.  Apparently the group had gathered at the Byers’ house to get their story straight when Steve’s exhausted body and damaged brain finally gave out.  There was pride in his voice when Hopper told Steve that Elle had used her powers to keep him from hitting his head on the ground, managing to catch him and lower him gently onto the living room rug.  Elle looked bashful at this praise, sidestepping Hopper’s hand which came to ruffle her hair, but Steve caught her small, cool hand in his bandaged one, eyes catching on the IV taped to the top of it.  “Thank you” he whispered, squeezing her hand tightly.  

 

Elle nodded solemnly. “Friends take care of each other.”

 

For the next week Steve had never been alone at the hospital.  The Chief, Joyce, and Mrs. Henderson appeared to have made a schedule where they sat by Steve’s side around the clock.  When he was finally released from the hospital ten days after he was admitted, with the stipulations that he do nothing to cause strain on his still recovering brain, he returned to his empty house to find that the fridge had been fully stocked with lasagnas and casseroles.  If his brain still hasn’t been recovering from plate- related trauma Steve would have wondered how they had gotten into his house.

 

Steve had assumed the care-taking would stop once he was out of the metaphorical brain damage woods, and was surprised when the three surrogate parents continued to stop by every day to check on him while he awaited clearance to return to his normal activities.  It made Steve feel good to have adults checking in on him, as long as he didn’t think too long about the twinge of resentment he felt towards his own parents, who had sent a get well card obviously signed by their personal assistant.  He knew he should consider himself lucky that Hopper was looking the other way on his lack of parental figures, he’d heard horror stories from his dad about what would happen if he told anyone his parents weren’t around, tales of a social services worker dropping him off at a group home where he’d never get to see them again.

 

So yeah, Steve had no reason to not hate Billy Hargrove.  But when Billy showed up to school one Monday looking like he’d been run over by a semi truck, Steve eyed him worriedly throughout the day, unable to quell the concern in the pit of his stomach.  And wasn’t that just fucking typical, he thought bitterly as he watched Max climb into the Camaro, ignoring the increasingly loud argument coming from his own car over who had called shotgun.  The asshole nearly killed him and he couldn’t even bring himself to not care about who beat him up.  _Hell_ , he thought bitterly, _I should thank them for giving him a taste of his own medicine._.  

 

———————————————————

 

Steve was surprised when Billy showed up to practice Tuesday afternoon.  Steve had thought there was no way Billy would attempt to play basketball when he looked like he’d gone ten rounds with the demogorgon.  It did not go unnoticed by Steve that he had foregone his open button-up for a long-sleeved tee shirt which kept his chest and lower neck conspicuously covered.  The coach eyed Billy nervously, and appeared to be debating whether or not he should allow the obviously injured teen to participate.  Billy stared the coach down, a challenge in his sharp, pale eyes.  In the end the coach went forward with practice as usual, no one addressing the elephant in the room, even as all the boys eyed Billy’s battered face nervously.  

 

The coach declared that the practice would be spent scrimmaging.  Steve and Billy were unsurprisingly declared the two captains and the team was split fairly easily into two.  Steve gave his team a once over, he had Tommy as well as two particularly good sophomores who excelled in defense.   Billy’s team lacked a strong defensive player and would be relying on offense only to win the game.  Steve smirked to himself, eager to pull a win over the insufferable ass that Billy continued to be on the basketball court.

 

“Hargrove your team is skins, Harrington’s team you’ll be shirts” the coach said but was cut off by Billy.

 

“Nah coach, we’re gonna be shirts today.   Think Stevie boy might have a better chance of winning if he doesn’t have any distractions” Billy said knowingly, and Steve felt his cheeks burn red.  The others boys laughed, the rumors that Steve played for the other team had kicked off after he made no attempt to rebound from Nancy Wheeler.  Steve pointedly kept his eyes ahead, not meeting the piercing blues of Billy which he knew were staring at him.  He thought he heard someone whisper a particularly nasty name from behind him, but refused to give in and look.  The coach just sighed, and gestured for Steve’s team to remove their shirts.

 

Despite Billy’s injuries the match was as brutal as always.  Billy played with an almost desperate fervor, as if he had something to prove.  On one particularly aggressive hip check, which knocked Steve fully to the ground, the brunette did notice that Hargrove’s breathing was ragged, much more so than usual during practice, and he used his arm to brace his ribs while he sneeringly told Steve to plant his feet.  As Steve shook himself off he noticed Billy’s hands were shaking and he stood with his weight all on one leg.  

 

The game was going well, and Steve’s team was ahead by a single point thanks to their defense and a Hail Mary shot which had made it right before half time.  Steve had just thought to himself that he may actually beat Billy when he saw the blond running at him, and instinctively struck out hard with a bony elbow to the larger boy’s ribs.  It was a move he had done before to keep from getting bowled over but the consequence was unexpected.  

 

Billy staggered sideways, clutching at his side.  He managed to keep himself from falling to the floor but leaned heavily on one knee, gasping for air.  Billy didn’t move, just stayed kneeling at an odd angle as his breath came in harsh wheezing gulps.  Billy finally managed to look up, seeing the rest of the players gathered in a loose circle around him, the coach making his way over, and took off like a shot.  No one moved as Billy ran, stumbling clumsily over his own feet, out of the gym.  Everyone appeared to be so shocked at what they had seen that for several long seconds no one moved.  Steve felt as if the image of Billy, pale-faced and struggling to stay upright, had been seared into his memory, right next to Billy’s wild-eyed leer as he beat him senseless in the Byers house.  

 

The coach himself seemed unsure of what to do, and finally called for a break, before telling Steve to go check on Hargrove.  Steve wanted to argue that it wasn’t his problem, but bit his tongue, and slowly moved in the direction he had seen Billy go.  It had been him that had caused whatever had happened, after all.  Steve had assumed Billy would have gone into the locker room but found it empty and eerily quiet.  Standing in the gym lobby he surveyed the small area, unsure of where else Billy could have gone, before he had an idea.  He walked farther down the hall to the Men’s room which was only used for fans during basketball games.

 

A few feet from the door Steve knew he was right when he heard violent retching from inside.  He grimaced and steeled himself for whatever was happening inside.

 

The lights were off, the dim room only lit by the small, dingy windows that lined one wall up by the ceiling.  Steve flipped the switch on and instantly regretted it when a horrible moan of pain came from one of the stalls.  Steve’s nose wrinkled as he saw a puddle of sick on the floor in front of him, it was apparent that Billy hadn’t been able to make it all the way to the toilet before the vomiting started.

 

“Billy” Steve called out, conscious of his volume.  The only response was more heaving, and Steve steeled himself before he got closer to the stalls where Billy was puking.  He didn’t have a particularly sensitive stomach, but he did have to clench his jaw and focus on breathing evenly as he pushed the middle stall door open and saw Billy.

 

The older boy was a mess.  Billy’s stomach appeared to have calmed for the moment and he was slumped against the stall wall, his flushed cheek resting against the toilet paper holder.  His hair was sweat-soaked and Steve could see that it had not escaped the purging of Billy’s stomach unharmed.  Billy’s shirt was clinging to his skin and had sick down the front of it.  Billy had both arms wrapped tight around his torso, his hand clutching his side where Steve had elbowed him as if it was the only thing keeping him together.  But the most alarming to Steve was the tears that were running down Billy’s cheeks, dripping off the end of his reddened nose and falling to the grimy tile floor.

 

Steve opened and closed his mouth several times without saying anything.  Billy, although aware of the other boy’s presence, made no attempt to look at him.  Steve still hadn’t said anything when Billy let out a low moan and shot forward, pulling himself upright via the chipped toilet seat to dry heave over the bowl.  Steve carefully maneuvered himself into the small stall, standing behind the Californian and pulling his sweaty golden curls away from his face, grimacing to himself as his fingers came in contact with the chunks of half-digested food caught in the other boy’s long mane.  He worked a hair tie he had spotted earlier off Billy’s wrist and messily tied the sick teen’s hair back before beginning to rub the boy’s back, not caring about the sweat-soaked tee shirt.  The part of his brain that wasn’t absorbed by concern for Billy was stuck on how weird the situation was, and for a split second Steve considered turning around and leaving.  Despite the thought he did not move, unable to leave someone so clearly in distress on their own.

 

When Billy’s body finished attempting to expel its nonexistent contents he slumped boneless into the toilet, resting his face uncaringly against the cool porcelain.  Steve stepped away long enough to wet several paper towels at the sink, draping one over the back of Billy’s neck, before coaxing him into raising his head and allowing Steve to wipe his mouth and chin.  Billy, for his part, seemed to feel miserable enough to abandon his pride.  He sat compliantly while Steve cleaned the vomit from his face.  The cold water on the scratchy brown paper made Billy’s body feel less like he was on fire, and he leaned appreciatively into the touch against his forehead.  

 

Neither boy moved, neither seemed to know what to do.   _This is fucked_ Steve thought as he surveyed the horrible scene in front of him.  He wished he could walkk out.  He wished he could let Billy deal wth whatever was going on by himself.  But he was a good person, and he couldn't leave someone on the floor of a bathroom, especially since he had been the one to cause the other teen to be there.  The negative, spiteful voice in Steve's head reminded him that technically Billy had started everything by being a jackass to him on day one.  But it didn't seem to matter to Steve's conscious, annoying thing that it was, which kept him glued to the possible unconscious form in front of him.  Billy hadn't moved after his last retching fit, and his arms had gone limp at his sides.

_Better now than never_ Steve thought, moving forward with a vague idea of a plan in his brain.  “Cmon Billy, we’ve gotta get you cleaned up, man” Steve said, reaching for the hem of the soiled tee, but Billy’s eyes shot open and he grabbed Steve’s wrist with a strength he wasn’t expecting.  

 

“Is that what you came in here for?  Hoping to catch an eyeful?  You wanna feel me up like the disgusting homo you are?”  Hargrove snarled at Steve, not letting go of the vice-like grip he had on the other boy’s wrist.

 

Steve’s expression showed his surprise at Billy’s harsh words, and his own stomach twisted with a horrible, sick feeling.  Homo, his brain seemed stuck on the four letter word, echoing it over and over again.  “Wow, even when you’re sick you’re a complete asshole.  No I did not come in here to “catch an eyeful” you dick, I came to help.  And I was going to take your shirt off because you puked all over yourself, you pathetic dick.  But fine, wear clothes covered in your own vomit.  See if I give a shit.”  Steve wrenched his arm out of Billy’s grasp, and turned to leave.

 

Billy, never one to let someone else have the last word, braced his hands on the (gross, sticky) tile and attempted to push himself off the ground. He barely got his feet under him before his cracked ribs screamed in pain, making tears rush to his eyes again and his teeth grit as he sank gracelessly back to the floor, the back of his skull knocking against the stall wall.  The bump caused his already pounding headache to become blinding pain which momentarily left him with spots in his vision and a ringing in his ears.  He felt saliva pooling in his mouth and his jaw tighten, and knew the pain would have made him spew if he hadn’t already gotten rid of everything in his stomach.  As he heard the door bang open against the wall he called out “fuck you, fag!” as Steve stormed out.

 

———————————————————

 

Steve headed straight into the locker room, his jaw clenched and his pulse jumping in his chest, his anger so visceral he fumbled his locker combination three times before he got it right.  The metal door slammed loudly as he wrenched it open, the clanging echoing in the large empty space.  Stuffing his school clothes into his gym bag, not bothering to shower or change, Steve threw his backpack over his shoulder and headed straight for the door to the parking lot.  The word ‘fag’ rang in his head as he made his way across the lot to the Beemer, and all the way home.  

 

That night, as he drank lukewarm beer on the living room couch the word still sat in the forefront of his mind.  Steve finished off his third beer and started in on his fourth as he attempted to ignore the horrible anxiety that had settled in his chest.  Logically he knew Billy was just trying to upset him, didn’t realize there was anything more to his words, but the name still stung Steve in a way nothing else could.

 

That night, laying in bed with the lights on and half-drunk, Steve couldn’t get Billy Hargrove out of his mind.  The anger he felt towards him for using that word, and also worry about whatever the hell had happened to him that had caused the whole issue in the first place.


End file.
